


Getting On Better with Your Associate Employee Contemporaries

by cm (mumblemutter)



Series: Fitter, Happier [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Mindfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles fixes Erik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting On Better with Your Associate Employee Contemporaries

**Author's Note:**

> Most vaguely inspired by [a bit of AU canon](http://alishatorn.livejournal.com/11098.html), with apologies to Radiohead.

On their way to pick up a kid named Sean who uses his gift mainly to cost his school a fortune in window repair fees (to which Erik had commented, "I suppose it'd be a useful skill if we ever ran out of hammers"), Charles starts to let his guard relax, which usually means that thoughts drift in. Either that, or he reaches out, he's never quite sure except that it's an effort not to, and it's only through years of practice that it comes so easy, or at all. But then driving through empty stretches of road with no-one around except for the random farmhouse or two, bright in the distance, drifting halfway between sleep and being awake, the tether is almost automatic. More so because it's Erik, and the connection's already there. Will always be there. Erik told him, more than once, to stay out of his head, which he doesn't understand: you can't break down the walls of a dam and expect the water to remain tightly held. It's just not the way it works, not that Erik doesn't try.

He's been around broken, damaged people before, but he's never been this close to anyone so obviously traumatised by their past. Of course Raven would say that's because he has no friends and, "It's not just because you're kind of a social freak, it's also because people can sense that you want to fix them, and that's creepy."

"I don't want to fix you."

"Only because you also like to believe you keep your promises."

Fourteen years to Raven's eleven and they'd pinky-sweared on it. Charles would keep out of Raven's mind and Raven wouldn't force him to mind-wipe their parents more than absolutely necessary by keeping to one singular identity.

"Your mom - our mom's blonde, so I guess I can be that too," she said, the day she made up her mind, tilting her head in front of the mirror. "What do you think, Charles?"

"I think you're beautiful." He'd blushed, and turned away, and ignored the vague hint of unhappiness that wafted his way for some reason he couldn't identify.

It became harder after that. One, to make sure both his mom and stepdad kept recognizing Raven as their daughter, and two, to keep out of Raven's head. He'd never had to consciously do that before. But then again no-one else knew what he could do.

-

In his mind, Erik is broken, in shards, a kaleidoscope of fractured places that shimmer as brilliantly as they scream, "Keep Out", except of course it's too late for that. Charles has already seen all of it, connected so deeply that sometimes he wakes in the middle of the night in whatever hotel room they're holed up in, certain the dream that woke him up is Erik's. He's certainly never had a reason to feel such pain in his skull - metal bits drilling in - and it starts, mostly, there, even though he likes to think himself not so selfish. _If I could just get a good night's sleep_. Just _forget_ , and in the next bed, Erik's brow unfurrows, and the fist he's clenched opens, ever so slightly.

The third, fourth, fifth night, Charles opens his eyes, and Erik is staring at him, eyes wide and fixed. "Bad dreams?" Charles asks, surprised at how calm his voice is.

"No," Erik says. "Not a single one." He rolls over, away from Charles, spine a hard, unyielding line, and Charles flops over onto his back, hard and foolish and wondering if Erik can tell.

The third week, there's Alex and prison bars and the incarcerated crowding him with their fears and their rage and their overwhelming hopelessness, and Erik is calm throughout all of this, relaxed to the point of being unconcerned. The usual, really, until they have the boy in the adjoining room ("I need to sleep alone, really. Stuff happens - when I get. When I sleep sometimes. Um," he stops. "I promise I won't run away." He's telling the truth, but Erik fuses the locks on his door anyway).

"That went well -" he's about to say, but then Erik is rushing him, entirely unpredictably, and his back is against the wall and he can't breathe. "Erik, what are you doing?"

"What am I doing? What are you doing? I should have been -"

_You need to calm yourself, Erik._

"And you need to stay the fuck out of my mind." His fingers tighten against Charles' shoulder, and Charles should be afraid. This dangerous man. For all the veneer of civility -

"Don't," Erik says. "Don't."

"Okay," Charles says, and slides his hand to Erik's waist.

Later, Charles would say it wasn't the most pleasant of sexual experiences he'd ever had. But pleasant is overrated, sometimes. Instead it's him face-down on the bed, wrists aching from trying to push himself up while Erik persists on holding him down, fingers digging into the back of his neck. _A man's screams cut off as Erik forces his face into a tub of water, replaced by gurgling, a struggle to breathe, to live._ "Stop it, Erik, I can't -" But then Charles' body obviously disagrees, because what he does instead is turn his head blindly for a kiss. Erik just pats him distractedly on the side of his mouth with his free hand, turns his head away. After, he drapes himself across Charles' back, ghosts his lips against the side of his neck, and Charles is too tired to push him off, so they stay that way for a while.

-

It gets easier, and harder, after that. He calls Raven, and she blathers on about the Institute, and Hank, and it seems another life, someone else's life. At some point she pauses, voice lowering in concern. "Charles, you okay? Erik's not making fun of you or anything, right, because I swear -" And Charles looks to where Erik is lounging in the doorway, one hand casually in his pocket and the other one tapping an aimless rhythm against his thigh, and wordlessly shakes his head. _Hang up_ , Erik tells him, and he's getting better at that too. Used to be he'd insist on actually talking whenever he wanted to communicate.

"I have to go, Raven. All my love and I'll be back soon, I promise. Buy you something interesting, I know."

_You could send her postcards. Or a toy. There's this doll called the Barbie-_

"She's not a child, Eri- what, Raven, sorry I really do have to go."

Some nights he wants to crawl into Erik's skin, smooth out all the twisted metal chunks until they're shiny and new once again. Sanitize entire pieces of him. Loss, death, pain, destruction - _Shaw._ Erik puts his hand on Charles' forehead and mutters sleepily, "I told you to stay out of my mind, Charles," as if his very presence isn't an invitation. Some nights they get piss drunk and Erik fucks him slowly, languidly, and there's nothing but skin against skin and the ache and Erik's heart, going rat-a-tat-tat against his.

Some nights, when they've picked up a new recruit, they sit in diners and Erik charms the kid by showing her a magic trick - look, I can bend a spoon with my mind, how quirky and unthreatening that is - while Charles sips an overly strong cup of tea and idly rummages in his mind, searches out places he wants to stay in, rooted like a tree.

-

"Enhanced hearing. That would be an awkward power to have right about now," Erik says. He's vaguely amused, thoughts mostly focused anywhere but where it should be, what he's doing. Not that it seems to matter much. Charles bites back a moan as Erik jerks his hand a little faster, harder around Charles' dick.

"Angel - I'm sure she's heard worse. Seen worse."

"Is that a fact, Charles?"

Charles squeezes his eyes shut. Angel, and the men she dances for. Down to the last one, fascinated with her tattoos - hey baby, that must have hurt, hey baby, think you're an angel, do you? - and all the while her secret in the back of her head, and a smile on her face that no-one can touch. He opens his eyes again, and Erik lowers his head, and Charles stops thinking about Angel for a while. He's so far gone he doesn't even remember precisely the moment when he comes, only a hand prying his mouth open, Erik sliding his tongue inside. He's startled enough that he swallows unthinkingly.

 _Careful, we wouldn't want you choking_ , and Charles smiles against Erik's lips.

_You're sweet. I like you when you're -_

Erik only exhales, pulls himself away. "That's the last thing I'd expect anyone to call me." He says it as a faint sort of accusation, and Charles has no response. Instead he puts his fingers, gently, to Erik's temple. Erik says, "You just can't stop, can you."

"No," Charles replies honestly. _Not when it comes to you._

-

By the time they reach Armando, Charles isn’t so bone deep tired anymore. Erik has been sleeping through the night, and consequently so has Charles. "Anything for a good night’s sleep, eh?" Erik says once, vaguely bemused, and Charles just smiles, the sun bright in his eyes.

In the cab, Charles’ arm is stretched loosely on the top of the seat as Erik impresses with his tricks and Charles probes gently. Armando's thoughts are jumbled and confused, and then: a snag. A prickly porcupine sting, sharp as needles, and Charles jerks back, almost physically stung. Adapting, he realizes a minute later. His mind is adapting to being invaded.

 _Would that be a skill I could master_ , Erik thinks, dryly, without turning his head. Not that he hasn't tried - Erik builds walls made of steel and iron, metal alloys and even copper sometimes, just to keep Charles out.

 _That's not how it works_ , Charles tells him fondly, and the roof of the car begins to strain, a faint rattling sound that fades when Charles slides his thumb across the nape of Erik’s neck.

-

It took him a while to realize that he couldn't just read everyone else's thoughts. Most of the time he was trying to keep the voices _out_ , whatever focus and energy he had spent on maintaining a center that wouldn't be invaded by noise. Everyone jabbered so much, and they just refused to stop.

Once though: his French nanny with the black hair and blue eyes, who he’d always remember as being far less fond of him than she pretended to be, telling him to stop playing and get back to his studies. "That’s enough for the day, Charles," she said, in that soft gentle manner she had, and she thought, _I just want to go home._ He pictured her smiling instead, telling him _No, you’ve been so good. How about we take the rest of the day off._

And she blinked and said, "Charles, you've been so good. How about we take the rest of the day off."

It wasn’t a power he necessarily knew how to control, nor how to use in any effective way, and even when everyone just ignored whatever he tried to suggest to them, at first, he wasn't sure he wanted to try harder. But then Raven came along, and everything changed.

Thanksgiving dinner with Mom and Kurt, and it was usually just about all Charles could do to keep the illusion alive that Raven belonged there, that she was part of the family. He had gotten used to wishing his mom wasn't home more often, but she always made sure she was there for Thanksgiving. That he couldn't avoid. Her smile was strained, and when she was stressed he could feel the illusion slipping from her mind, so whenever she looked at Raven her smile faltered even more, and Charles had to distract her, convince her that everything was all right. Raven looked near tears, her mouth quivering silently. Charles squeezed her hand under the table and she turned her palm upwards, squeezed back.

"I don't know if I want to do this anymore, Charles," she said afterwards, curled up around him like a tiny blue comma, and he couldn't even bring himself to tell her to change back. "They're not my family. Cain scares me sometimes."

"I will never let him hurt you," Charles whispered fervently. "We're family now. You and I."

-

They could do this forever, Charles realizes one day. Find new recruits, build an army, stop Shaw - _Kill_ , Eric reminds him reproachfully. _Shh_ , Charles responds, unwilling to unravel that particular knot just yet, as tied up as it seems to be in how Erik defines himself. The tattoo on his arm and the scars on his body, and even Charles can't make them cease to matter. Not just yet, anyway. But they have time, and if there's one thing that Charles is good at, it's being patient. Beside him, Erik starts to laugh, and there's an edge of hysteria in his voice Charles has never heard before. "What is it?"

"Well, I was going to ask you what you were thinking, but then it just hit me, what's the point."

Charles just blinks at him, and reaches for his hand.

  
_Slower and more calculated  
No chance of escape  
Now self-employed  
Concerned (but powerless)  
An empowered and informed member of society  
(Pragmatism not idealism)_   


**Author's Note:**

> For the **possession/marking** square.


End file.
